Page:Encyclopædia Britannica, Ninth Edition, v. 14.djvu/755

 L I V Y 731 discovered, by his contemporaries. For it was on the artistic rather than on the critical side of history that stress was almost universally laid in antiquity, and the thing that above all others was expected from the historian was not so much a scientific investigation and accurate exposition of the truth, as its skilful presentation in such a form as would charm and interest the reader. In this sense Cicero, De Lerjn., i. 2, speaks of history as an &quot;opus oratorium,&quot; and Quintilian, x. 1, as &quot;a prose poem&quot; (carmen solutum) ; and so we find that in the judgment of ancient critics it is by their artistic merits that historians stand or fall. Tried by this standard, Livy deservedly won and held a place in the very first rank. Asinius Pollio sneered at his Patavinity, and the emperor Caligula denounced him as verbose, but with these exceptions the opinion of antiquity was unanimous in pronouncing him a consummate literary workman. The classical purity of his style, the eloquence of his speeches, the skill with which he depicted the play of emotion, and his masterly portraiture of great men, are all in turn warmly commended, and in our own day we question if any ancient historian is either more readable or more widely read. It is true that for us his artistic treatment of history is not without its drawbacks. The more trained historical sense of modern times is continually shocked by the obvious untruth of his colouring, especially in the earlier parts of his history, by the palpable unreality of many of the speeches, and by the naivete with which he omits everything, however important, which he thinks will weary his readers. But in spite of all this we are forced to acknowledge that, as a master of what we may perhaps call &quot; narrative history,&quot; he has no superior in antiquity ; for, inferior as he is to Thucydides, to Polybius, and even to Tacitus in philosophic power and breadth of view, he is at least their equal in the skill with which he tells his story. He is indeed the prince of chroniclers, and in this respect not unworthy to be classed even with Herodotus (Quint., x. 1). Nor is anything more remarkable than the way in which Livy s fine taste and sense of proportion, his true poetic feeling and genuine enthusiasm, saved him from the besetting faults of the mode of treatment which he adopted. The most superficial comparison of his account of the earliest days of Rome with that given by Dionysius shows from what depths of tediousness he was preserved by these qualities. Instead of the wearisome prolixity and the misplaced pedantry which make the latter almost unreadable, we find the old tales briefly and simply told. Their primitive beauty is not marred by any attempt to force them into an historical mould, or disguised beneath an accumulation of the insipid inventions of later times. At the same time they are not treated as mere tales for children, for Livy never forgets the dignity that belongs to them as the prelude to the great epic of Rome, and as consecrated by the faith of generations. Perhaps an even stronger proof of the skill which enabled Livy to avoid dangers which were fatal to weaker men is to be found in his speeches. We cannot indeed regard them, with the ancients, as the best part of his history, for the majority of them are obviously unhistorical, and nearly all savour somewhat too much of the rhetorical schools to be perfectly agreeable to modern taste. To appreciate them we must take them for what they are, pieces of declama tion, intended either to enliven the course of the narrative, to place vividly before the reader the feelings and aims of the chief actors, or more frequently still to enforce some lesson which the author himself has at heart. The substance no doubt of many of them Livy took from his authorities, but their form is his own, and, in throwing into them all his own eloquence and enthusiasm, lie not only acted in conformity with the established traditions of his art, but found a welcome outlet for feelings and ideas which the fall of the republic had deprived of all other means of expression. To us, therefore, they are valuable not only for their eloquence, but still more as giving us our clearest insight into Livy s own sentiments, his lofty sense of the greatness of Rome, his appreciation of Roman courage and firmness, and his reverence for the simple virtues of older times. But, freely as Livy uses this privilege of speechmaking, his correct taste keeps his rhetoric within reasonable limits. With a very few exceptions the speeches are dignified in tone, full of life, and have at least a dramatic propriety, while of such incongruous and laboured absurdities as the speech which Dionysius puts into the mouth of Romulus, after the rape of the Sabine women, there are no instances in Livy. But, if our estimate of the merits of his speeches is moderated by doubts as to his right to introduce them at all, no such scruples interfere with our admiration for the skill with which he has drawn the portraits of the great men who figure in his pages. We may indeed doubt whether in all cases they are drawn with perfect accuracy and impartiality, but of their life-like vigour and clearness there can be no question. With Livy this portrait-paint ing was a labour of love. &quot;To all great men,&quot; says Seneca, &quot; he gave their due ungrudgingly,&quot; but he is at his best in dealing with those who, like Q. Fabius Maximus, &quot;the Delayer, &quot; were in his eyes the most perfect types of the true Roman. Over their pictures he lingers with loving care. Each act of their lives, and every speech that is put into their mouths, adds something to the completeness of the sketch, or brings into stronger relief its characteristic features, and thus the desired impression is produced more indelibly than by pages of critical analysis or panegyric. The general effect of Livy s narrative is no doubt a little spoilt by the awkward arrangement, adopted from his authorities, which obliges him to group the events by years, and thus to disturb their natural relations and con tinuity. As the result his history has the appearance of being rather a series of brilliant pictures loosely strung together than a coherent narrative. But it is impossible not to admire the copious variety of thought and language, and the evenly flowing style which carried him safely through the dreariest periods of his history; and still more remarkable is the dramatic power he displays when some great crisis or thrilling episode stirs his blood. The sen tences with which he begins his account of the sack of Rome by the .Gauls are impressive in their solemn sim plicity : &quot; In the same year one M. Credicius, a plebeian, gave notice to the tribunes that in the new road where now there standeth a chapel, above the temple of Vesta, there was in the still time of the night a voice heard, louder than any man s, commanding that the magistrates should be told that the Gauls were coming &quot;(vi. 32). With genuine tragic irony he describes how, as the hour of their fate drew nigh, the minds of the Romans were blinded (vi. 37), and how they forgot their ancient cunning in counsel and their courage in the fight, till &quot;full unhappily and in an ill hour &quot; they were scattered to the winds by their foes. Equally vivid is his picture of the self-devotion of the senators who refused to save themselves by flight &quot; then the elders that had triumphed aforetime, and been consuls, openly gave out and said that they would live and die together with them.&quot;. . . But we have not space to follow the story to its triumphant close, when the banished Camillus arrived to save the country which had driven him into exile. Nor can we do more than refer to the descrip tion of the forced march of the consul Claudius in the Second Punic War, of the battle by the river Metaurus, and the death of Hasdrubal. Livy, however, is not always at his best. For the full exercise of his powers he seems to require either the